


On Sunday, After the War

by thievesguilding



Category: Star Trek Online, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bajor, Cardassia, Multi, Occupation of Bajor, Post-Canon Cardassia, look ma i figured out how ao3 tags work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievesguilding/pseuds/thievesguilding
Summary: the occupation of bajor and the destruction of cardassia both made me cry and continue to make me cry and by god i am going to make that everyone else's problem toomind chapter notes for chapter-specific content warnings





	1. I. || Earth, 2381

**Author's Note:**

> [ Note: Chapter 1 edited to include another section. ]
> 
> _We’ll drown it in brandy, we’ll drown it in wine_  
_When all of the ships have laid anchor ashore_  
_I’ll pay for your sorrow if you’ll pay for mine_  
_When the ships have laid anchor ashore_  
_I’ll pay for your sorrow if you’ll pay for mine_  
_On Sunday after the war_  
  
[daniel kahn - sunday after the war](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_v0_1evDZlg)

Somehow, even absent money as an incentive, the Federation still managed to find and retain administrative assistants. Some people simply had the knack, the inclination, or the extravagant derangement necessary to do it by choice. Relan Miiri, erstwhile Bajoran refugee and naturalized citizen of Earth, had at least the first of these and, she suspected, the third, as well as an uncle who had insisted that she needed to find a job so she would have to leave the house more often and - ideally - meet new people for a change. Thus, a year later and a handful of background checks later, she had part-time work at Starfleet Headquarters as a civilian filing clerk, typist, occasional receptionist, and the favourite coworker of everyone who preferred pot-brewed coffee to replicated.

On the Monday after her twentieth birthday, Miiri walked in and found herself face to face with Sarah, her half-Trill supervisor, who rarely made it in before 9:00.

“Mmfgh,” Miiri said, stifling an ill-timed yawn. “Good morning. You’re in early.”

“Morning. Come talk to me in my office for a minute.”

The bottom dropped out of Miiri’s stomach, but she covered it with a smile as she followed Sarah. “Is everything alright?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Sarah assured her, gesturing to a chair by her desk as she shut the door behind them.

Miiri settled onto the edge of the seat, lacing her nerveless fingers tightly together, somewhat unreassured. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s _ wrong _, exactly.” Sarah fiddled with a pen on her desk as she sat. “You know the liaison that the Cardies sent last month, right?”

Miiri had done her best to avoid him, in fact - not difficult, as he never seemed to leave the office Starfleet had stashed him in - but she’d seen him a handful of times. “I know _ of _ him.”

“He’s put in a request for an admin. Apparently their government doesn’t have secretaries and couldn’t be bothered to find one to send with him.” Sarah paused. “I can shuffle around some schedules if I have to, give you someone else’s projects for the time being and have them handle this, but… right now you’re the only one on staff that has a free enough schedule to take it on.”

Miiri took a deep breath, staring intently at the pen Sarah still fidgeted with. “So… you want me to…”

“If you aren’t comfortable with it, I understand, I’ll just have to tell him to wait a few days while I reconfigure our team. He won’t be happy about it, but frankly he shouldn’t be asking _ us _ for this anyway.” She tossed the pen lightly onto the desk. “The department heads all got some information on him; he was never on Bajor, if that helps.”

“It… sort of does.” Miiri cleared her throat. Was this a request, or just a politely-phrased instruction? “When did he ask?”

“Friday afternoon. And it would only be one or two days a week, not full-time.”

“Okay.” She cleared her throat, reaching up absently to untangle a wisp of hair from her earring. “Can I think about it?”

“I wish you could, but I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I am to be as accommodating as possible.” Sarah, who had grown up in the Demilitarized Zone, had made her feelings about such accommodation clear two months prior, and was doing little to hide them now. “He was… hm. Insistent.” ‘Demanding’ and ‘pushy’ went unspoken but, Miiri expected, loudly thought.

“If… if there’s some problem with him, if he’s difficult…”

“You tell me immediately and I’ll fix it.” Sarah shrugged. “If you do this, I’ll take you off front desk duty too.”

Miiri raised an eyebrow. “Permanently?”

“Permanently.”

“Well then.” Miiri smiled halfheartedly. “How can I say no?” As hard as Sarah was selling this, she likely couldn’t, not without repercussions. “When do I start this?”

“Today, as soon as possible. Apparently there’s a great deal of absolutely urgent clerical work to do.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Honestly I think the Cardassians just sent him to annoy us into sending more aid.”

“That seems likely.” Miiri fiddled with the tangled drop chain of her earring, a slow rising panic tightening in her veins. Why had she just agreed to this? Was she so dedicated to not inconveniencing others that she would - well, evidently, yes, she was. “I am… going to make a pot of coffee before I go track him down.”

Sarah beamed, relief sneaking in at the corners of her eyes. “That’s the real reason we keep you around.”

“I just don’t know how everyone else manages to mess it up so badly.” She grinned, grabbing her bag as she stood back up.

“Because the rest of us grew up with replicators.”

“Grew up spoiled, you mean.” Miiri nudged the chair back into place before opening the door.

Sarah laughed. “The wonders of a Federation childhood, honey - none of us can make coffee worth a damn.”

Miiri went through the motions of coffee-making on autopilot. A Cardassian. She was going to be working for a fucking Cardassian.

Her uncle was going to lose his mind if he found out.

Five minutes later, a cup of hot coffee comfortingly in hand, she headed down the hall to find the liaison’s office.

In truth, it shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did. The Occupation was twelve years over, and since the Dominion War, the Cardassians had been effectively removed as a threat to either Bajor or the Federation for the foreseeable future. She and every other Bajoran she knew had been told half a dozen times that it was time to forgive or at the very least pretend to forget, to stop making such a fuss - after all, hadn’t the Cardassians suffered all that they had and more at the hands of the Dominion? Maybe it was true, at that - the Federation’s aid shipments certainly indicated as much, Cardassia had received more in a decade than Bajor had during the entire Occupation. And Vedek Bareil, of blessed memory, had given his life for a treaty with the Cardassians, which Kai Winn had formalized. Sixty years of protracted suffering didn’t simply dissipate overnight, though - and she had only been eight when it ended, just a half-forgotten nightmare of hunger and barbed wire fences and men with disruptor rifles. She could only imagine the horror of it for those old enough to truly remember.

She took a sip of her coffee. Forget why she had agreed - why was she so calm? When the Cardassian liaison had first arrived, flanked by a pair of aides, all three in their dark uniforms, she’d had to hide in the bathroom on the far side of the office to get her anxiety back under control. Every sighting of them in the month since had brought with it another little spike of panic, yet now her hands weren’t even trembling. Not that she preferred the panic, of course… but it was _ odd _.

Another sip of coffee, a deep breath, and she knocked on the door.

No answer, so she knocked again a few seconds later, a bit more firmly.

“I said, come in.”

_Off to a great start,_ she thought, pushing open the door.

The office was large enough that it couldn't accurately be called cramped, but only just; a window (closed) took up most of one wall, with a desk wedged into the corner, a small couch crammed against the wall alongside it, and another desk tucked away in a tiny alcove pretending to be a conference table. Behind the first desk was the promised Cardassian, who blinked at her in something adjacent to surprise as his eyes flicked to the earring adorning her right ear.

“Alright.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “You’re the one they sent to help out?”

“I am.” Miiri paused. “Is there a problem?”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. “No, it isn’t. Your name is..?”

“Miiri. Relan Miiri.”

“Ronos Kedran.” No title appended; interesting. He stood, holding his hand out to her, and crossing the room she took it. Close up and standing, he was much taller than she had anticipated - imposing, which, she supposed, was a welcome side effect from his perspective. He released her hand and pointed to what passed as a conference table. “See all of that?”

The mess of PADDs and boxes was, indeed, quite noticeable. She nodded.

“I need assistance getting all of that -” an irritable wave of the hand - “in some semblance of order, which apparently neither of my aides is capable of seeing as they only made it worse. The PADDs themselves and what’s on them. Can you do that?”

If I couldn’t would they have sent me? “That seems straightforward enough, yes.”

“You say that now, but wait until people start adding to it again.” He stopped as she turned back towards him, zeroing in on the cup in her hands. “Where did that come from?”

Miiri pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. “I made it, there’s more that way. Didn’t they give you one of those little mini-replicators?”

“Yes, but it only works half the time and the other half everything comes out tasting like metal. I’ll be right back.”

Judging by the glint in his eye, if she hadn’t been standing in the way he might have simply vaulted over the desk. She sidestepped out of his way as he headed for the corridor without a second glance.

Odd man, even for a Cardassian - perhaps _especially_ for a Cardassian. She finished her coffee and sat beside the pile of PADDs to wait.

She hated Mondays.

— — — — —

Miiri smiled at the familiar chime as she opened the door to her and her uncle’s apartment; he had sworn over the weekend that it was driving him insane, even figured out the settings well enough to change it the day before, and yet apparently he remained a creature of habit. “I take it the complex sent someone to stop the door chiming every twelve minutes?” Twelve, precisely; they had timed it.

“Why do you say that?” came a call from the kitchen.

“The new chime for the door didn’t last long. I thought the old one was sending you into a murderous rage.” She tossed her bag onto the table by the door, stooping down as a leggy orange cat came bounding around the corner, with a soft, high-pitched meow to greet her as she scooped him up.

“It reset when they fixed it. I’ll just have to control my deadly impulses for the time.”

Miiri kicked her shoes off, cuddling the purring cat against her chest as he settled himself higher on her shoulder. “What was wrong with it?”

“ _ Someone _ failed to close her window all the way.” 

She stepped into the kitchen and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Jeya Raban turned around and pointed at her accusingly with a spatula. “I told you,” he said, stern tone undercut by the mischievous glint in his eye. “And for the weekend you cursed me with, you get to do the dishes.”

Miiri groaned theatrically and plopped into a chair, wincing as Toby reflexively secured his position with his claws.

“You timed your entry well; I just finished with dinner.”

“You know you don’t have to cook like this every night,” Miiri said, dropping Toby to the floor as she stood.

Raban scoffed. “I am  _ not _ replicating hasperat. The way Federation replicators spit it out tastes nothing like the family recipe.” He handed her the plate of hasperat and fished a carton of icoberry juice out of the refrigerator.

“You don’t have to replicate it, we could just go and get something on occasion.” She set the plate of hasperat down and crossed her arms. “You’ve just taken on a lot lately, I don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

Raban sighed, setting the carton on the table before placing his hands gently on his niece’s shoulders. “I  _ like _ cooking. It gives me something to do when I’m bored.”

“That’s what you said about teaching at the university,” she countered. “And about teaching at the shrine’s religious school. And about that weekly study of the Books of the Prophets, and having more weekly services at the shrine—”

“Alright, you’ve made your point. But I like to keep busy.” He smiled and gently poked her in the forehead. “And if I don’t keep busy, I might start coming up with ideas, and you know how dangerous that could be.”

She smiled, reaching out to poke him back. “Just remember what the doctor said about not overextending yourself.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” He gently patted her cheek. “Besides, since the shrine was able to find a prylar willing to come to Earth, if I start to slow down I can have her take over some of my duties there. Happy now?”

She nodded.

“Good. Then can we eat before this gets cold?”

Miiri rolled her eyes at him as she sat, then shifted a roll of hasperat to her plate. It  _ was _ better than the replicator made, if only because her technophobic uncle refused to learn how to operate it well enough to reprogram it to his liking. Vedek Jeya was a brilliant man, as evidenced by his honourary doctorate and professorship at Stanford University, but nobody had ever accused him of being adept with machines,. Miiri was half convinced he would happily light their apartment with oil lamps if he could have gotten it past the complex’s management - and if Toby wouldn’t have immediately set himself on fire.

After dinner, Raban downed the rest of his icoberry juice and closed his eyes, hands resting palm-open and upward on the table, a posture which his niece mirrored. After a lifetime in temples and shrines following her uncle’s work, she knew the blessings of gratitude after meals nearly as well as he did, but as usual, she kept silent save for the listeners’ traditional responses.

_ “The Prophets have blessed us; may they be blessed. The Prophets have granted us goodness and plenty; may we give them our goodness. The Prophets have blessed the land and the people; may the people and the land bless them in turn. May Bajor and those who serve the Prophets prosper until the Emissary is returned to guide us to an age of peace.” _

_ “May the peace of the Prophets touch our spirits,” _ Miiri murmured in response, opening her eyes and removing her hands from the table. Though nowhere near as fluent in ancient Bajoran as Raban, she knew it well enough for blessings, at least.

There was more - and five years ago, Raban would have gone through all of it, making Miiri stay at the table until he was through - but tonight he sat back after the requisite blessing, dropping his hand towards the ground and wiggling his fingers at Toby. “So how was work?”

Miiri took a quick gulp of her juice.”Oh, you know… it was work.” She extended her own hand in an attempt to lure Toby away from her uncle. Toby, of course, ignored the both of them to flop onto the floor and bathe himself. “Though, actually… my supervisor did give me a new project today.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

She hesitated. “Just… helping get some data in order,” she said finally. “But it means I’ll be off the front desk.” She couldn’t tell him about the Cardassian. As much as she wanted - needed - his advice on how to handle it, she couldn’t worry him like that.

He smiled. “That’s good! Maybe now you won’t be so tired when you get home, and  _ you _ can make dinner for a change.” He gave up trying to get the cat’s attention, and laced his fingers together on the table before him. “Miiri, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

A prickle of fear crept across Miiri’s neck, up to her cheeks and down into her chest. Twice in one day she had to have a conversation that started like this? “Is… are you..?”

“I’m fine, I promise. But…” He sighed. “My order wants me to stand in the Vedek Assembly. They want me to return to the homeworld, and I told them I would.”

The prickle contracted to a white-hot point in her chest. “You’re going back to Bajor?”

“I know what you’re thinking, and I am not abandoning you here. If you want to come home as well, you can, or you can stay here. It’s your choice.”

Bajor - home to him, but to her too far distant. Home for her had been a series of refugee camps, then Earth - no, home had been with her uncle, the surrogate for parents who had died and left her before she was old enough to form clear memories of them. What was she supposed to do on Bajor?

“Miiri?”

She looked up, eyes stinging with tears. “I’m sorry, I—” A deep breath, in and out. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I thought you didn’t want to go back.” She jumped as Toby landed in her lap and settled there into a warm, chirruping lump.

“I didn’t, not for a long time, but… the older I get, the more I realize I just want to be with my people again. I suppose I’m homesick. And if Bajor is to eventually join the Federation like I hear they want it to, I at least want to live there for a few years while it’s still independent.”

Miiri stroked the cat in her lap, resting her fingers briefly on his rhythmically vibrating side. “When are you leaving?”

“I have to finish out the semester, so it won’t be for another three months. I would have told you sooner, but they only asked me a week ago.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to decide anything now, either. Stay on Earth for a while without me if you like, and if you want to go home later, you can.”

She nodded, numb. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“I have those occasionally, yes.”

For as long as Miiri could remember, it had just been her and her uncle. Her mother, Raban’s sister, she barely remembered - the woman had died when she was five, and all Miiri had of her was her blonde hair, her green eyes, and her delicate silver earring. The thought of losing Raban, even if she wasn’t truly losing him? Unbearable. And yet somehow the thought of leaving Earth, where she had assimilated only halfheartedly and felt a perpetual outsider, was just as bad. Earth had kept her safe, where the Valo colony, the standoffish Bajoran enclave on Virinat, and even Bajor itself had not.

Pulled both ways, anchored to both by bone-deep tethers, what could she do?


	2. II. || Bajor, 2359

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: forced labour, harassment, violence
> 
> _Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame._   
_Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart._   
_Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honour's sake._   
_Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame._
> 
> [hannah szenes - ashrei hagafrur](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hannah_Szenes#Poetry,_songs_and_plays)

You couldn’t tell it by talking to her, but Jeya Rahnis was descended from priests - there had been several Vedeks Jeya, even a kai by her family name generations ago. It was amazing how things that had once seemed so important - like a holy, well-known lineage - sheared away under pressure, leaving only what truly mattered. 

What mattered was this: 

Jeya Rahnis hated the Cardassians and what they had done to her people, her world, and she couldn’t forgive the Prophets for failing to stop it. 

That was why she left her home, her parents who couldn’t manage their firstborn’s raw anger, her brother who somehow - _ somehow! _ \- still wanted to join a monastic order, and started heading north. North, however, got her exactly as far as as unexpected Cardassian travel checkpoint, followed by a Cardassian detainment facility and a Cardassian work detail at a munitions factory. 

Shit. 

A month later and she was still there, and hadn’t been able to contact her family since she arrived - not that there seemed to be much point. She was stuck making the very tools used to keep their people subjugated; not exactly something she _ wanted _ her family to know. Neither were the leering looks she got from the soldiers who guarded the production floor from catwalks overhead, and even from some of the other workers when they thought she wasn’t looking. Mostly Rahnis kept her head down, did her work, and nursed her powerless rage in the makeshift hut she shared with four other “unattached females”. 

It could be worse, she told herself one night when yet another fight from the couple next door threatened to escalate into a screaming match. She could have been stuck with them, like their poor son. Hopefully the Cardassians wouldn’t be by to break it up this time; the last time they had, the husband had almost gotten himself shot. 

As if on cue, the aliens’ methodical booted steps crunched across the gravel outside - but far too early, weren’t they, next door’s fight was still constrained to furious, unintelligible whispers. The Cardassians only went out at night outside of summer if they had no other choice, so why..? 

She could barely finish parsing the thought before the flimsy plastic door crackled and slammed open, followed by a beam of blinding light pouring into the room. Rahnis’ first thought, to pretend to be asleep, came after she had already thrown her arm instinctively up to shield her eyes. “There, the blonde one,” one of them said, and a moment later a viselike hand closed around her wrist, dragging her out of bed. 

“What is this, what are you doing?” she demanded as they hauled her out of the hut. When they unsurprisingly didn’t answer, she jerked back, more out of spite than any real expectation of escape, and nearly got her arm free. The attempt earned her a backhand across the temple from the soldier gripping her arm - one of the few Cardassian women serving at the site. 

“Don’t do that again,” the woman warned, and Rahnis glared at the back of her head as she tightened her grip and gave a sharp tug. All of the Cardassians were vicious, but the women seemed to be the worst, like they had something to prove. 

“I need my jacket.” Rahnis fought against the urge to headbutt the Cardassian; all three soldiers were armed, and the instinct to fight could easily get her killed. “Where are you taking me?” 

No answer. Presumably she would find out when she got to wherever they were going; it was unlikely to be anywhere good, however. What did they think she’d done? 

They took her to the administration center, a grey, utilitarian prefab reinforced with thermocrete. Like the factory, it was considerably hotter within than the cool autumn night outside. The woman solder - an officer, Rahnis guessed - released her wrist and shoved her through a weapon detector, the arch maintaining a dull yellow-white glow on the sensor displays. Satisfied, the three soldiers followed her, the display flashing to green at their own, authorized arms, and Rahnis was escorted down a narrow hall. 

The room they took her to was bare of any furniture save a metal table and a pair of uncomfortable-looking chairs. One was empty; in the other, perusing a PADD, was the facility’s overseer, Gul Adar Kedran. He gestured to the empty chair, not looking up. 

The officer shoved Rahnis toward it, and Rahnis sat. Only the one door, now guarded both outside and in - no way out. But if they were going to torture her she doubted it would be so close to the facility’s entrance, and surely they would have started by now unless they simply had her here to wait until they were ready, but then— 

Rahnis cut off that train of thought as abruptly as possible. She was _ not _ going to panic. Taking a deep breath, she rested her elbows on the table, watching the Cardassian across from her. He was not, she suspected, ignoring her nearly as thoroughly as he appeared - probably waiting for her to speak first, lose her composure and break. So she simply waited, watching. 

After what seemed like decades, he set the PADD on the table and fixed her with an intent stare. “Jeya Rahnis.” 

She nodded sharply. What should have been paralytic fear had instead turned into a simmering fury. 

“Your family were of the priestly caste.” 

“Traditionally.” 

“And from a few days’ walk south of here.” 

“Did something happen to my family?” 

He ignored the question. “Why is a girl from a family of… priests… this far north of where she should be and working in a munitions factory?” 

Only verifying information, then; her family had to be safe still. “My parents and I had some… philosophical differences. I came north to get away from them for a while.” 

He shook his head and glanced at the woman by the door. “You hear how easily she talks of abandoning her family? 

“I’m not surprised, sir. The Bajorans don’t feel the same things for their families that we do.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think they just lack the our restraint when it comes to their tempers and impulses.” 

_ If only you could read minds, you’d think otherwise. _ Rahnis kept her face as neutral as she could, focusing on breathing evenly. 

“And the factory?” The flinty stare was back. 

“I was picked up and assigned here. I was planning on going further north than this.” Shouldn’t he know why she was there? Why else would she be? 

“Up to the city, I’d imagine.” He picked up the PADD again, glancing between it and her. 

“Why am I here?” 

“You’re here because I want to know why you’re working in my factory and why you came this far north without a travel permit.” 

Her stomach clenched. The Cardassians had come down hard on unapproved travel - something to do with resistance movement in the area. Was that what they thought she’d done? Infiltrated their stupid factory for the resistance? If they really believed that, she doubted they would be so passive about their questions. 

After another minute or so of silence, the overseer waved his hand at the door. Without a word, the officer grabbed Rahnis’ arm and hauled her upright, frogmarching her back down the hall and outside without another word. 

“That’s it?” Rahnis asked incredulously. 

“Did you want more?” The officer scoffed. “Get back to where you belong.” With a hard shove, she nearly sent Rahnis sprawling on the gravel. 

It was lucky that one of the other workers was leaning up against the side of a building; he caught her as she struggled to find her balance, helping her back upright. “That would’ve been a nasty fall,” he remarked placidly. “They finally rolled out the welcome wagon for you?” 

Rahnis rubbed her sore and doubtlessly bruising arm. “That’s one way to describe it, I guess. Sure. What the _ fuck _ was that about?” 

He shrugged. “No idea, but they do that to a couple newbies a month, the ones that come from out of town. Nobody comes here on purpose, I think it makes them suspicious when someone shows up who shouldn’t be here.” He snorted. “At least they’re self-aware.” 

Rahnis said nothing, glaring back over her shoulder towards the administration center. The three soldiers had disappeared almost immediately. 

“Gonna get yourself in trouble throwing looks like that around,” the man said, putting his arm firmly around her shoulder and steering her back into the ramshackle collection of makeshift shelters. “I’m Relan, by the way, Relan Tiro.” 

“Jeya Rahnis.” She shrugged his arm off her shoulders. “Why are you out so late, anyway? Aren’t you worried about the curfew?” 

“Wife kicked me out. I’m headed over to a friend’s.” 

“You must be next door to me.” 

“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve been hearing us, then.” 

“Pretty sure they heard you in Relliketh last week.” It was rude of her, of course, but it pissed her off how familiar he was, even if they were neighbours. 

They both walked in awkward silence for a minute. 

“Well.” Rahnis tried to rub the chill out of her arms. “Thanks for keeping me on my feet back there.” 

“No problem.” Relan ran his hand through his hair. “Listen, just… that Cardassian, the woman. You looked ready to spit acid at her and that’s not a smart choice. Some of the soldiers might put up with that one, but not her - she takes it as a challenge, you see. You shouldn’t do that again.” 

“Who is she?” 

“Glinn Rusek? Nasty piece of work. She’s the overseer’s adjutant, handles all the dirty work he can’t be bothered with. A lot of them are just brutal, but she’s an out-and-out sadist.” 

“I got that sense from her.” No wonder the other women she was staying with hadn’t tried to help her. 

“Just watch out for her, alright?” 

“Why do you care? And how do you know all of this, anyway?” 

“Because I’ve made a point of caring and knowing.” He gave her a sardonic little salute. “Anyway. Evening, ma’am.” And with that he shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered off. 

Only a few people made a point of knowing about specific Cardassians - the resistance, and collaborators. Rahnis had no interest in involving herself with either if she could avoid it. 

The other women pretended to ignore her as she slipped back inside, but she doubted any of them was actually asleep. Fine; if they weren’t interested in reaching out to her, neither was she interested in them. She curled back up on her pallet, wrapping her thin blanket around herself with a shiver as the chill finally sunk in. At least the Cardassian compound had been warm. 

— — — — — 

Rahnis fell into a dull routine as the days dragged out into weeks, the weather veering further and further into an autumnal chill. Awake as early as she could manage to get into the ration line ahead of the crowd, usually alongside one of the other women in her shelter; breakfast in what passed as a town center, watching the other workers and the soldiers, usually the only downtime she got in the sun; then into the factory when the klaxon signalled the start of the day’s operations. Work in the stifling factory, trying to stay awake despite the pervasive heat and hunger and lack of rest. An evening meal - such as it was - though this time there was no leaving early to get ahead of the line. And then sleep, bundled up as warm as possible in her thin blanket, for as long as she could. 

Exhausting, disheartening, and - as petty a complaint as it seemed - _ painfully _ dull. 

All that broke the monotony were the handful of people she had met through her neighbour. Relan, from next door, as well as his wife Cala who seemed quite nice outside of her fights with her husband; Rhai Jensa who spoke even less willingly than Rahnis; Therim Galit and Koza Idan, who Rahnis suspected must have been a couple by how both men would apparently rather chew glass than look each other in the eye; and Luhar, whose given name, like any visible indicator of gender, was a mystery. (Good for them, Rahnis thought; the Cardassians had worked hard to force people like Luhar into their black-and-white categorization where once they had been commonplace.) The seven of them were never in the same place at once - gathering in groups of more than three alarmed the Cardassians, and more than five was forbidden outright - but despite that Rahnis considered them… “friends” was a strong term, but it was close. They were stuck together and they talked, something Rahnis’ roommates still didn’t seem keen to do. 

Without question, however, the factory was the miserable hub around which their lives revolved. She suspected even the Cardassians hated it - although they definitely hated the Bajorans more. And while Rahnis could more or less avoid the Cardassians in the workers’ shanty town, they were inescapable inside. Even that wouldn’t have been so terrible if one of them hadn’t seemingly developed a minor obsession with her. Every day, without fail, he would make his way toward her when she wasn’t paying attention, brush up against her back, and use her inevitable flinch as an excuse to stop and bother her. 

“What are you doing?” He sounded as though her were directly behind her ear. 

Rahnis gritted her teeth, willing herself not to react. “Working.” 

“Working what?” 

“On my job.” 

She felt a sharp, painful tug on her hair. “Working, _ sir. _ ” 

She immediately bit back a flippant reply about the necessity of calling her “sir”. “Working, sir,” she repeated grudgingly. She wished he would just leave her alone; the adrenaline spike that came with these interactions left her anxious on edge for the rest of the day. 

“Better.” The pressure released at the back of her scalp as he let go of her hair. “Now, why are you so twitchy? What are you hiding?” 

“I’m not hiding anything, _ sir _ . I just don’t like people coming up behind me, _ sir _ .” She hated him. 

“That’s too bad.” 

She ignored him. By now, the fourth iteration of this, she had her suspicions that he had any real interest in her as he’d heavy-handedly implied - perhaps he just knew that getting in her personal space would rile her up entertainingly. Bastard. She wasn’t at all ready, then, for him to grab her arm and tug her back so that her hip bumped against him. 

“Don’t ignore your betters when they’re talking to you,” he said, right into her ear. 

She reacted without thinking, driving her elbow back out of his grasp and directly into his stomach. 

Unprepared for any resistance, he doubled over with a wheeze. The unfamiliar Cardassian words he spat out at her sounded like swearing. “Fine, if that’s how you want to be, let’s see how Glinn Rusek feels about it.” And for the second time in a month, Rahnis found herself shoved along by a Cardassian while the Bajorans around her kept their heads down and ignored it. 

Rusek paced like a bored hara cat, overlooking the factory from one of the upper walkways, and she watched impassively as her souldier hauled Rahnis up the stairs. 

“This little—” He glared at Rahnis. “She attacked me.” 

“She elbowed you in the stomach because you weren’t paying attention,” Rusek corrected him. “You shouldn’t have been close enough for her to do it.” 

Rahnis fought back a grin, which died away immediately as Rusek’s hawklike amber eyes turned on her. “And _ you. _ You have yet to learn any respect, I see.” Quicker than Rahnis could even attempt to react, Rusek grabbed her arm, forced her hand down on the walkway’s railing, and slammed the butt of her disruptor down onto it. 

Rahnis’ shriek of surprise and pain echoed eerily back from the ceiling. She cradled her hand to her chest as soon as Rusek released her. 

“Be thankful I didn’t take your arm off for misusing it,” the Cardassian said coolly. “Get back to work. No slacking. Move!” 

The rest of the day was agony. Blue bruising pooled under the skin across the back of her hand; the fingers weren’t broken, but something certainly was. Tears rolled steadily down her cheeks as she tried to keep up. 

Relan and Koza found her almost immediately after work. “Let me see it,” Koza said without preamble, holding out his hand while they walked. Even as gently as he manipulated her fingers, it was enough to bring her to tears again. “Broken metacarpal, I think, maybe two.” 

“How long for it to heal?” She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard. 

“A few weeks if you could rest, but here…” He hesitated. “It probably won’t, not correctly.” 

Relan gently patted her shoulder. “I’m… sorry. I told you she was a piece of work.” 

Rahnis angrily wiped her face with her good hand. “Just tell me how to make it stop hurting.” 

Koza shrugged. “I can bandage it, maybe even work out some kind of makeshift cast, and… I think there are some herbs that grow around here that might help. And you have to try not to use it, when you can avoid it. Three months, at least.” 

“Great.” Three months was impossible. 

Relan cleared his throat. “Cala might have something at home to wrap it in, she hoards scraps like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“That’s helpful.” Koza smiled lopsidedly at Rahnis. “My mother was a doctor, before. She taught me a few things, in case you were worried I’m just guessing. I am, mostly, but it’s educated guesswork.” 

“That’s what we keep him around for,” Relan added cheerfully. “Prophets know it isn’t for his personality.” 

Koza rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t know personality if it bit you in the—” He turned the last word into a hasty cough as Relan’s son broke free of his mother and bounded toward them. 

Cala did, in fact, have scraps of relatively clean cloth that Koza tore into strips and wound around Rahnis’ hand - not as good as an actual cast, or an unbroken hand, but good enough. Cala watched nervously while Koza worked and Rahnis tried not to wince too visibly. 

“This sort of thing is exactly what I mean,” she said in a voice thick with anxiety when her husband returned with their ration cards and food. “How can you stand Ison growing up exposed to this? This could happen to him one day, or worse, if we don’t—” 

“Don’t start this again, not while there are people over.” Relan sighed as he sat down. 

Cala took a deep breath. “Fine.” Taking one of the plates, she went to the far side of the room where her son was playing. 

Rahnis stared awkwardly at the table. 

“Same old argument?” Koza kept his voice low. 

Relan shook his head. “Well, kind of, I guess. She wants to take him back to live with her family… stay there with them herself, too. I told her she’d never get a travel permit…” 

“She probably wouldn’t.” 

“She thinks it’s better than, you know, the other options. And she doesn’t trust that the child labour’s really over.” 

“And you do?” Rahnis didn’t look up from the table. “How old is he, anyway?” 

“Just turned seven.” 

“How long do our benevolent dictator’s edicts protect kids? Until they’re fourteen, right?” 

“Yeah.” Relan rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s what Cala said, too.” 

“Done,” Koza said, louder, as Cala glanced over at them suspiciously. “See how much you can move that.” 

Rahnis dutifully wiggled her hand. “Not much.” 

“Good, that was the idea.” 

She ate her meal, such as it was, with them. Even with her broken hand and the frankly atrocious food, it went further towards easing her loneliness than anything else had. Koza bandaging her hand was the longest contact she’d had with another person since she had left her family. 

Apparently, she had missed it. 

— — — — — 

With her hand bandaged, swollen, and perpetually aching, Rahnis had little hope of keeping up with the Cardassians’ demands, and the workers around her had little reason to help her - doing so would only have slowed them down, put them at risk of censure. The only upside to the entire incident was that Glinn Rusek, evidently displeased with her subordinate’s lack of focus, had reassigned him, and Rahnis no longer spent the day waiting on edge for targeted harassment. 

And then the factory exploded. 

It was late in the day, with most of the workers already through the door - only the guards and a handful of stragglers left inside. Rahnis was among them, hurrying as well as she could to finish at least _ some _ of her work before the impatient-looking Cardassian making his way toward her actually got to her. Then a sound of running behind her, a crash as the table behind her overturned, someone grabbing her and dragging her to the floor, and then the loudest boom she had ever heard followed by ringing silence and a waft of heat and pressure. She curled into herself instinctively, crouching against what little protection the table offered. Something heavy thudded into the other side of it and then… nothing. Her ears still rang as she uncoiled herself cautiously and peered over the table. 

The factory was in ruins. The main machinery that churned out heat and parts for assembly was a twisted wreck, the offices the overseer and his adjutants sometimes used collapsed from the second floor into a heap of rubble. As her hearing returned, she picked up muffled cries and groans from the wreckage. 

“Jeya. _ Come on. _ ” 

She turned, stunned; it was Relan Tiro who had pulled her down. 

“We have to get out of here before they come looking.” 

Rahnis glanced back at the heap of rubble. “Did you do this?” 

“Can that wait? Come _ on. _ ” He grabbed her arm and pulled her upright, pulling her back as she started for the door. “Not that way, there’s a back exit.” 

Still shocked, she let him drag her past the smoking piles of debris and out of the sweltering factory. 

As they made their way into the forest that surrounded the settlement, more of the factory began to collapse inward with a groan of twisting metal, and Rahnis reminded herself to thank him later. 

They walked in silence through the woods, the sounds of panic and confusion and structural damage fading slowly behind them, with no sound of pursuing soldiers yet to replace it. 

Finally Rahnis turned to look at him. “You’re part of the resistance.” Not a question - how could there _ be _ a question? 

He nodded. “New to it, but I think it’s going alright so far.” 

“How many Bajorans do you think died back there?” 

Relan glanced at her, guilt washing over his face. “We tried to time it so most everyone would be gone… it was just you and a few others, some Cardassians, that’s it. We wanted to wreck the machinery, mostly, and the building… slow them down for a while.” 

Rahnis nodded. “I think you might have managed that.” She glanced up at the darkening canopy of trees. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you save me?” 

He shrugged. “They’d’ve probably killed you sooner or later, with your hand like that. Didn’t seem fair to let them do it, not when it was their fault to begin with. Plus, it sounds like you can throw a mean elbow when necessary. That sort of thing might come in handy.” 

Just as Rahnis was beginning to suspect they were lost, Relan climbed down a small embankment, and when Rahnis followed him she found what he had been looking for. The rest of the Relan family, Koza and Therim, Rhai and Luhar, and a few others Rahnis didn’t recognize were waiting under a narrow overhang of earth and tree roots. 

“Alright, rest break’s over, we need to keep going.” Relan knelt down and hugged his son, ruffling his hair before standing. 

“We were just waiting for you.” Koza didn’t look up from where he knelt on the ground, trying to bandage what looked like a phaser burn on Luhar’s shoulder. 

Relan crouched down next to him. “Tajahl’s dead,” he said softly. “Got caught in the blast. I saw her on the way out.” 

Koza froze. “Shit,” he whispered. “What do we tell Jensa?” 

As Rahnis half-listened, the reality of the situation hit her like a sack of gravel. The factory was gone, at least for the time being, and she… she was on the run now with the people who had blown it up. And what was more, she had no particular qualms about it, or about staying with them, if they would have her. 

It was oddly serene. 

Koza reached over and tapped her leg. “You still with us?” 

She nodded. “I’m good.” 

“Good.” He finished patching up Luhar’s shoulder and helped them to their feet. 

Relan took a step closer to her. “No point being coy - you in? We could use an extra pair of… uh, hand.” 

Rahnis shrugged. “First place they’d probably look for me is at home… safer for me and my family if I’m not there, right?” 

First place they’ll look is under all that rubble; they’ll probably mark at least three of us down as casualties just to save on paperwork.” 

“That suits me fine, I’d rather be here than dead, too.” 

“He snorted. “What high praise for our company.” 

Her hands were shaking as they started out through the woods again. Doubtless the Cardassians would rebuild the factory, but at least for tonight they had learned a lesson. And for at least a few days the Bajorans stuck there would find themselves with an opportunity to slip away. 

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 


End file.
